


Home

by Enid_Black



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: I warned you!, M/M, Slight Hurt, So beware, Tons of Comfort, introspective, my beta says she needs insuline now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 23:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16335617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enid_Black/pseuds/Enid_Black
Summary: Some days ago, I saw on Facebook a screen with a quote from an interview with Chris Evans, who was talking about Steve Rogers, and said that the relationship with Bucky is one of the few he could bring in this century. I included the quote at the beginning.This is a very short work, just to get out all my Steve-y feels ^^Thanks to my Beta, NepturnalHarianne, for reading this cavity-inducing little piece ^^.





	Home

“I think that's one of the more precious relationships for Steve Rogers. It's one of the few relationships that's been able to transfer into modern day. One of the few relationships that he can identify as anything we could call "home"” Chris Evans on Steve Rogers.

***********************************************************************************  
Home. 

He hadn’t had a home in such a long long time.

He’d gone from house to house, from an apartment to another, hosted or rented or given for job.

He’d bought things to make them his. Music to fill the empty silences, art on the walls, a throw blanket on the couch.

Unused. They hadn’t helped, the music was all wrong, the notes too sharp, the sound too clear. The art was fake, not even his because he hadn’t been able to draw since… The throw blankets were rough, never warm enough.

He’d spent all the time he could outside his house: at work, or working out, running around Washington. He’d bought the motorbike and used it until the beating of his heart synchronized with the thrumming of the engine, speeding on empty roads outside of the city.

He’d answered to every call to danger that arrived, driving his colleagues/friends nuts. Even Tony had commented on his recklessness, and not in a positive way. 

He had joined SHIELD looking for the same sense of belonging, craving the sensation to be working for the greater good, hoping for a new home.

All for nothing.

All for fucking nothing.

And then, that day, when all was falling down around him, when friends became enemies, right when he _should_ , for all intents and purposes, have felt everything really drop under his feet, that day, on that fucking bridge, _he had found his breath again_. 

It hadn’t been easy. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, even worse than the hurt of the Vitarays that changed so much in his life. There had been days of despair, days in which he couldn’t see an exit route. He had been helpless when Bucky had decided to disappear after the Triskellion. He had felt helpless when all the mess with the Sokovia Agreements and the Vienna attack had happened. He had felt hopeless again after that fucking Thanos had snapped his goddamned fingers.

Would he do all that again?

In a heartbeat, he’d answer.

Because now, after all the hurt and the pain, all the despair and the desolation, after the loneliness, he was _home_. 

In Bucky’s arms, in their apartment, which wasn’t aseptic anymore. The throws were soft and warm, the art on the walls was his again, because he had a whole studio where to work while Bucky read in his armchair in the room, and his fingers had found pencils and colours again. He had music that he could listen to even if the notes were a bit sharp, even if the sound was a bit too clear, because he listened it with Bucky, dancing in their sitting room or in a bar, or at one of the parties at the Tower. 

He laughed again, and he could hug again. Tony had said, once, while trying not to be smothered, that it was like hugging a brick wall, but no one of his friends ever shied away from a hug, not even Natasha. 

He could be hugged again, kept close to Bucky’s heart, one metal arm clutching at him in the night when the nightmares threatened to pull him under and he had another heartbeat to follow, and a warm soothing voice guiding him back _home_ , again.

He could kiss again, those lips he loved to draw, but he loved to kiss them even more. He could kiss Bucky’s scars better when they ached in winter, and he could drive him mad, kissing with a passion they’d had to keep hidden back in the ‘40s.

They were friendly with the neighbours (real neighbours) and they fought for petty things, just to be able to make it up to each other.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Bucky, and there was nothing that Bucky wouldn’t do for Steve: even when they had nothing, they had each other, so it had been in the past, and so it would be in the future, until the end of the line.

As for the present, _home_ really was where his heart was, and Steve’s heart had always been next to the one of a brown haired, blue-eyes man with a smirk on his face and a kiss on his lips.


End file.
